Pieces of My Heart (15 page)

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘So, what’s on the agenda today?’ she asked, sitting down at her desk, opposite me.

‘Honesty.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s up? You look miserable.’

‘I’m a middle-aged frump.’

‘No, you are not.’

‘I said you had to be honest.’

‘I am being honest. You are no such thing. What’s going on? Is Nadia still parading around in her skimpies?’

‘Yes, she bloody well is, and it’s driving me nuts. I know it’s ridiculous. I have two daughters to worry about, one of whom is completely stressed out, and I have a job I need to focus on, but I’m getting into a rage about my father’s girlfriend and her sexy body. What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s normal to feel the way you do when you have a semi-naked body thrust in your face every day.’

‘She looks so good and I feel so mumsy when she’s around. I’m sure Paul is lusting after her. I can’t believe my father’s girlfriend is younger, prettier and in much better shape than me. It’s crazy. But it’s made me realize that I’ve got lazy.’

‘You always look really smart.’

‘Exactly. Smart. What is smart? Smart is safe, sensible, square.’

‘No, it’s appropriate, classy and subtle.’

‘Nice try, Sally. Let’s be honest as we agreed. I’ve got lazy about how I look. You, on the other hand, look fantastic and wear great clothes. I wear crap clothes that do nothing for me.’

Sally sighed and sat down. ‘I have to make an effort because I’m still trying to meet someone. I’m getting older and competing with much younger women – it’s boring and exhausting. I would
love
to wear a tracksuit every day and eat cream cakes. If I ever do meet a man, I’ll hang up my high heels, put on five stone and only wear elasticated waists.’

‘No, you won’t. You’re naturally stylish and always look brilliant. Having Nadia parading around the house has made me realize I need to make more of an effort. So I’ve decided to update my wardrobe and my underwear, but I need you to help me. Poor Paul has been looking at my off-white knickers and bras for far too long. I need to spice things up a bit. My clothes are boring and so is our sex life. It’s almost non-existent. It’s a sad day when your father’s having more sex than you.’

‘Well, I can help with the clothes, the sex life you’ll have to sort out on your own, although I did read an article in
Glamour
last month that suggested spraying your partner with whipped cream and licking it off.’

I giggled. ‘I can just picture Paul’s face as I attack him with the can.’

‘Tell you what, why don’t we give ourselves the morning off and go shopping?’

‘I’d love it. Make me into a goddess.’

Sally took me to boutiques I’d always been too intimidated to go into. They were the type of places where the staff pounced on you as soon as you walked in the door. They’d look you up and down with disdain while asking if they could be of any assistance. Then they’d follow you around asking if you were searching for something in particular. If you were brave enough to try on some clothes, they stood outside the changing room, shouting, ‘Does everything fit? Do you need a bigger size?’ And when you ventured out to look in the mirror they’d tell you it was ‘just fabulous’ and that there was a coat/bag/jacket/shoes to match.

Having arrived home from one of these places a few years ago with a hideous shapeless purple dress that made my pale skin seem washed out and did nothing for my green eyes – although the shop assistant had assured me that purple really drew out the colour – I swore never to go there again. Ever since I’d shopped in high-street chains or big department stores like House of Fraser where no one bothered you and you could sneak into the changing room with twenty items and not be harassed.

But going to the boutiques with Sally was a completely different experience because she took charge. All the assistants knew her and she handled them expertly.

She marched in and explained that her friend wanted some new clothes. ‘We’re talking smart casual. Everyday stuff for work and weekends, but something with a twist. Nothing too conservative.’

It was fantastic. I didn’t have to say or do anything. I just stayed in the changing room while Sally made the assistants scurry around and she only let me try on what she knew would suit me.

‘Pale-skinned girls with blonde hair need warm colours,’ she assured me.

I tried on dresses, tailored trousers and skirts in grey, black, navy, aubergine, dark green, brown, red and cream. If something didn’t suit me, Sally would shake her head and I’d take it off immediately.

She was a total pro. Nothing I bought would be wasted. Everything could be mixed and matched. I ended up buying four pairs of trousers, three skirts, four shirts, five tops, two jackets and two pairs of boots. Each item was more expensive than the last, but they were all gorgeous. I couldn’t wait to wear them. I felt like an excited kid.

‘Thank you, Sally.’ I hugged her. ‘I never thought shopping could be done so efficiently and that you could get so many things to match. I have a wardrobe full of clothes at home, but nothing goes with anything else.’

‘The key to good shopping is thinking about it. You should never go on a whim. Always have in mind what you want to buy, and when you try it on, think very carefully about what you already have that you could wear with it. I honestly don’t have that much stuff, but I can mix it all up.’

‘And the quality!’ I gushed. ‘They were a bit pricy, but the way they hang and feel is amazing. I’m always looking for a quick fix. I never think of quality.’

‘It’s so important. My mother always told us “quality over quantity” and she was right. I have jackets I bought ten years ago that still look brand new.’

‘I can’t believe I’ve never asked you to come shopping with me before. You’re a pro. If Happy Dayz ever shuts down, you could become a stylist.’

‘We haven’t finished yet. We still need to get you some decent underwear.’

Sally took me to a lingerie shop I’d never even heard of called Madame Sophie.

‘You’re going to love Sophie,’ Sally assured me. ‘She’s brilliant. She’s incredibly sexy in that understated French way and eats men for breakfast. She’s currently on her third marriage.’

The little shop was tucked away behind the main shopping streets. When we walked in a little bell rang. Sophie came out and greeted Sally like an old friend. ‘Darling, ’ow are you?’

‘Good, thanks. I want to introduce you to my friend Ava. She needs a full overhaul.’

Sophie shook my hand and appraised me. She was small, blonde and very petite. She had the tiniest waist I’d ever seen. She was wearing a grey trouser suit with a gorgeous cream lace camisole underneath. Sexy, but subtle.

‘Ava, you do not feel sexy any more. You ’ave lost your sexuality – I can see eet in your heyes. But don’t worry, I can ’elp you. Sexy is from ze hinside hout. Now go in zere and strip down to your hunderwear.’ She pulled a black velvet curtain around me while I took my clothes off.

‘Ah,
non, non, non
,’ she said, shaking her head when she saw my grey underwear. ‘You cannot keep a man ’appy with zees underwear. Your bosom is falling down to your knees. You are wearing ze totally wrong size. ’Ow many childrens do you ’ave?’

‘Two.’

‘When women ’ave children zey need even more ’elp to keep ze bosom hup. I will show you. Put zis on.’

I tried on bras that literally had scaffolding in them. My boobs went from droopy to pert. All the bras had wonderful frilly silk knickers to go with them.

‘Do you get all your underwear here?’ I asked Sally.

She nodded. ‘I get some basics in M&S, but mostly I come here. As you can see, a good bra instantly transforms your cleavage.’

Sophie pulled back the changing-room curtain, exposing me in my new underwear. ‘Now, zat is very nice, but you halso need ze corset hunderwear to pull in ze waist.’ She handed me a sexy, lace-trimmed corset that tied at the front with a long line of little hooks. I couldn’t believe the difference it made. I went from having no waist to a small, defined one, and I could still breathe.

‘Wow,’ Sally said.

‘It’s miraculous,’ I gushed.

‘Ze magic of proper lingerie.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Now, Sally, I want you to go and sit down. I ’ave one more zing I want Ava to try. Somezing only ze ’usband should see.’

Sally sat down and took out her BlackBerry.

Sophie came into the changing room with me. ‘’Ow often are you ’aving ze sex?’ she asked quietly.

‘Not very often,’ I said, squirming to admit it aloud.

‘I can see zis. You ’ave no colour in ze face.’

I looked at myself in the mirror. Could everyone tell by looking at me that I was neglecting my marital duties?

‘If zere is one zing ze French know, eet ees sex. You cannot let eet disappear. You ’ave to keep eet alive and you ’ave to work at eet. Sometimes I would much razer ’ave a glass of wine and read my book, but if a week ’as gone by, I know I need to ’ave sex. Never let eet go for more zan one week. Ozerwise ’e will start looking at ozer women.’

‘I’m just tired at the moment. There’s lots of stuff going on at home and I’m worried all the time and I’m just not in the mood for sex.’

‘Ava, I know ze stress. I know ze feeling of wanting to sleep and not ’ave sex. But, actually, sex ees very good for ze stress. Ze orgasm release ze stress and you feel much better hafterwards.’

She handed me a black Lycra and satin-lined lace baby-doll with a ruffle hem and garter straps with a matching see-through thong and stockings. It was skin tight and quite uncomfortable, but it looked fantastic.

‘Now you are feeling sexy, no?’

I laughed. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Now you want to ’ave sex?’

‘Actually, yes, I do.’

‘
Et voilà
. You ’ave to feel sexy to want sex. Ze hunderwear ees vital. You Irish women don’t hunderstand thees.’

‘Well, this has been a very enlightening experience. Thank you, Sophie.’

‘My pleasure. Your ’usband will be very ’appy tonight and so will you. Let you hin’ibitions go, ’ave sex like a tigress. Not like a missionary woman.’

‘I’ll take it all. And thanks for the advice,’ I said, deciding it was time to go before Sophie started demonstrating positions she thought might spice up my marriage.

‘Good luck,’ she said, winking at me. ‘Don’t forget – like a tigress.
Grrrr
.’

I took Sally for lunch. ‘Thank you so much for transforming me in one morning. I’d forgotten that great underwear and clothes could make you feel so good about yourself. I feel like a new person.’

‘Any time, I enjoyed it. And I hope you’re planning to wear some of that new gear tonight.’

‘Absolutely. Sophie’s put the fear of God into me. Not only did she say everyone could tell I wasn’t having regular sex by my pasty complexion, but that if I wasn’t having sex at least once a week my husband would stray.’

‘In that case every married man I know must be shagging other women.’

‘I was getting a bit freaked out in there.’

‘Well, being on her third, she should have a few tips on marriage.’

‘I wonder did number one and two only get sex once a fortnight.’ We giggled and ordered more wine.

‘So, what’s your plan of action – or should I say seduction?’

‘I’ll text him later and tell him to come home because I need to talk to him urgently and then surprise him.’

‘Why don’t you leave a note in the kitchen, saying, “Come up and see me in the bedroom” or something? And have candles lit and sexy music playing.’

‘You’re good at this.’

‘I watch a lot of movies.’

‘I’ll get some candles on the way home and download some mood music. Any idea what songs are good to have sex to?’ I laughed. I was like a teenager about to lose her virginity.

‘ “I Want To Sex You Up”.’ Sally giggled.

‘ “Sexual Healing”.’

‘Anything by Barry White.’

‘ “I’m A Slave For You”.’

‘Oh, I know – Seal’s “Kiss From A Rose”. I’ve had sex to that, very effective.’

‘Tried and tested! Wish me luck.’

17

When everyone had gone to bed, I wrote Paul a note and left it on the kitchen table under a bottle of wine. ‘I need you upstairs now! Bring the bottle.’

Then I lit candles all over the bedroom, set up the iPod, drank a large glass of wine to get me in the mood and put on my new lingerie. I examined myself in the mirror. The very short nightdress was completely see-through and the thong almost non-existent. It made my bum look bigger than it was. I twisted and turned, peering at myself from every angle. In daylight, I’d have been arrested, but in the flattering glow of candlelight I didn’t look too bad for a forty-two-year-old mother of two.

The wine began to take effect and I started dancing in front of the mirror to ‘I Want To Sex You Up’ …

‘
Oh
, my God! What are you wearing?’

I jumped. Sarah was standing behind me in her pyjamas, looking horrified.

‘Put your dressing-gown on, Mum. That’s obscene.’

‘Can you please knock before you come barging into my bedroom?’ I snapped.

‘I can see everything – it’s
way
too much information.’ She covered her eyes.

I grabbed my dressing-gown and put it on.

She noticed the candles. ‘Oh, God, are you and Dad having sex tonight?’

‘None of your business.’

‘I’m going to be sick. You’re not supposed to think of your parents doing it. It’s gross.’

‘It’s not gross. How do you think you were conceived?’

‘I don’t think about it – ever. Is it like a special occasion or something?’

‘No.’

‘Do you dress up like this every night when we go to bed?’

‘No.’

‘Does Dad know you’re doing all this?’

‘No.’

‘I’d say he’ll be thrilled – you look very hot.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, but it’s not something I ever want to see again. Mothers are supposed to wear aprons and bake cakes, not dance around in G-strings and suspenders.’

‘Next time knock.’

‘Next time I’ll give you a week’s notice.’